The Little Things
by Jasper winked
Summary: They look at all the season's colors—and she makes a joke that the Doctor bribed the trees to show their brightest colors that day. He thinks he probably would if he could. 10/Rose


**A/N: Because even though I have nothing against them, there are just so many Eleven and Amy fics that I feel the need to balance the universe out with more Ten and Rose. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. Would I write fanfiction if I did?**

The Little Things

Rose laughs delightedly when he takes her to the Ethovrian market, and points out the cobblestones, saying she loves to walk on them. The Doctor vows in his head to take her to more places with them.

Maybe Rose doesn't notice it, but the next place they visit—Earth—is for a walk in autumn. They look at all the season's colors—and she makes a joke that the Doctor bribed the trees to show their brightest colors that day.

He thinks he probably would if he could.

She's gasping and pointing at all reds, oranges, and gold's in the leaves; she completely misses that they're walking on cobblestones until the end.

And the grin he gets in the end, the Doctor's sure is worth it. And not just a grin, she quietly slips him a kiss on the cheek—so silent and quick he's not quite sure if he imagined it or not.

But her lips leave the most wonderful burning on his skin and he finds it's hard to think for a few seconds. 5.32, he thinks, to be exact, but he can't seem to remember if that's actually it or not.

And when they're running from flamingo-bat hybrids, sure, they're afraid, but as the Doctor looks at Rose, he knows they're both convulsing with laugher because the flamingo-bats look absolutely ridiculous.

The Doctor wonders in some other part of his brain not contemplating escape routes, whether just running—not because someone's chasing them or because something's going to explode—but just running, like normal people do, would be as fun as this.

But Rose's face is flushed pink, and both of his hearts are pumping, and he decides later that there would be no fun in it.

And quietly at the end of the day, they're both tired, but fine. The TARDIS is warm, the lights are muted, and the color casts a honeyed shadow about their faces. He's lying on Rose's bed, and she's carefully lying next to him. They're cautious about touching, a hand here or there, barely a whisper, yet it seems so substantial.

She's reading some magazine—Cosmo-something-or-other, but he can't bring himself to concentrate on it—and he's simply staring at her. The Doctor thinks he shouldn't be doing this so blatantly—or not at all. Probably not at all, but he can't help himself.

Shadows lean down to brush her face, his too. Crisscrossed in them, he can just make out her eyes. She turns her head, and suddenly she's looking right into him. He's looking back.

Perhaps he shouldn't be doing this. But she looks to him like the time when he showed her that in 65th century, people had invented devices to lift them up into the sky—

Humans could fly.

And he remembers when they went up into that blue, blue sky and saw the world from above. They had been up there for a while when she started suddenly, said she wanted to land.

When they touched down, Rose bent down and picked up something—a four-leaf clover. He remembers that she, after a moment's pause, tucked that small plant into his coat's pocket.

She looks like that moment—warm, and there. She's close to him, and he desperately wants to say something—anything, he thinks.

But he doesn't and they continue to look at each other. Absently he notices her hand is still clutching her magazine but he knows that this is when they both give up the pretense. She's not reading it, and he's been staring at her longer than he can wipe away with only a laugh and a witty comment.

And maybe she doesn't know—but he's almost sure she does—and the Doctor thinks this might just be the time he doesn't deny it.

They're here; wrapped in warm light that's weaving its soothing tendrils around them. The TARDIS sings somewhere in the back of his mind—hers too. And he thinks there are definitely worse things than falling asleep with each other so close, hands almost clasping.

And he can think of no better things than waking up with her face as the first thing he sees.

**A/N: Scene end. :D No dialogue, which I probably should have put in, but I felt it flows better without it. What do you think? **

**Hope you liked it, and all thoughts are welcome. **


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